Truth
by TheFutilitarian
Summary: One shot. Andy/Miranda. Implied existing relationship. Warning: femslash.


There are people in life that have a need for answers. Andy has always been one of them. Like Icarus, she knows the danger, but cannot resist the lure of the blazing light.

It's just a Sunday afternoon, like any other; the girls are at their father's; Miranda and Andy still in bed. She knows she should pull back, the warning's there, but even her deepest fears no longer have the strength to harness her tongue.

"Why don't you ever say it?"

The second it's out, she's desperate to recall it – not the words, simply the way they're said. It's clumsy, ambiguous, utterly presumptuous; in short, everything Miranda tends to hate.

"Perhaps because I never get a word in edgeways?"

Miranda's retort is typically caustic, Andy now long accustomed to its shear. After all, in an industry obsessed with weight loss, one lesson you can't unlearn is how to cut.

"That's not an answer."

Having locked herself into a dangerous trajectory, Andy knows it's now impossible to think of turning back.

"Did I miss a question?"

The blue remains the cold of winter yet somehow blasts out fiery heat.

"Why don't you ever tell me that you love me?"

Inside she may be all aquiver but feels just pride at the firmness in her voice. She's come a long way from her days at Runway, from the bumbling awkward girl she used to be.

"Have you ever heard me say what I don't mean, Andrea?"

_Ouch._

This time she can't avoid the sharpness of the sting. If she allows it, it will cripple her; debilitate enough to make her rise and walk away. But she cannot afford to have that happen, won't let the dragon's fire slay her dreams.

"No. But I've felt you mean what you don't say."

No longer held in check by all her fears, Andy's just as master of her word. Being so close she feels Miranda's tremble; wishes that she could dive into her head and see its source. Two years - this woman remains an enigma; the present that Andy's always wanted yet never been allowed to unwrap. On most days she enjoys the mystery, appreciates the challenge, but not today. Today she feels extremely tired and just this once, she needs to hear Miranda say the truth.

"If you can read me like you say, Andrea, I hardly think there is a need for words."

"But that's where you are wrong, Miranda. You think that we don't need them but we do."

"We?" The heat grows ever stronger, its blister almost hot enough to melt.

"Yes, 'we', Miranda. Your husbands, your mother, me," she pauses for a moment. "But most of all, I mean the girls."

In the next few moments silence reigns until its overbearing weight makes Andy close her eyes. She feels the prickle of tears behind her eyelids but ruthlessly she forces them away. She's shed her tears, is bound to spill more in the future, but now – undoubtedly – is not the time.

Except it is.

Because the next sound shocks her, its presence unknown – Miranda's quiet choked sob.

"Miranda?"

"I can't," the weight is now the sadness of despair, "I must have tried a thousand times. It comes so easily for you, Andrea. You say it without a second thought. Me - even though I long to utter it, I am stopped by everything those three words represent."

"And what is 'everything'?" Andy prompts her gently, her fingers caressing silky strands. She isn't stupid, she knows the answer, yet she's also aware Miranda must learn how to talk.

"Control." More tears. "Power." An anguished cry. "The ability to hurt."

She doesn't resist the urge; wraps Miranda in her arms, allows her own tears release. Achingly soft, she whispers, "Miranda, true love is giving the other person all of this. It's why they say it's built on trust. You have to trust me. You must believe I'll never abuse these precious things."

The next silence is infinitely longer; in truth, all the answer that Andy needs. But still she waits, maybe she's a masochist, but she will not believe it till she hears Miranda speak.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to say it. Don't waste your time, Andrea." The final weight is resignation, "Don't spend a lifetime waiting for what never comes."

Two years have made her perfectly attuned to implicit meanings, to discerning what's really underneath. The advice just given is meant for Andy but in turn, it is Miranda's own truth. As Andy, she has had her own hopes, seeks only acceptance for who she is; but in her lifetime, having never found it – dispenses warnings on the cost of failed dreams.

Ever the nurturer Andy soothes her, allows Miranda the solace of her embrace, even as inside she feels a wither, a silent wilt of her own long-held faith. And yet alongside that blooms a tiny seed of satisfaction from having found another answer that she sought.

It is that which will keep her asking questions, despite how much the truth might scorch her wings.


End file.
